Resonance of Stars (Greenstone Security #5) - Anne Malcom Page 0,56

like that candy cane bullshit that movies pumped out on the masses.”

I thought of the times where I locked myself in the bathroom, sat at the bottom of the shower with a bottle of vodka, and let the shower wash away the tears.

“I told myself it was better because it was harder,” I said. “Because it hurt more. Because every moment was agony. I told myself it was special. No one else could boast their love cut them into tiny pieces.”

I shrugged. “I guess it was a cynical form of romanticism. Or denial. Or daddy issues. Whatever. I’m not going to lie. Somewhere packaged up in that toxic package of love was the satisfaction I got with the labels. I loved that the world was obsessed with us. I loved that it catapulted my career into spaces that I wouldn’t have reached without a man at my side.” I took a breath. “As much as I wish I could say feminism has eradicated that shit, it’s just not true. If you really want to be famous, like everyone in the world knows your name kind of famous, then you have to abandon all of your morals and beliefs. You have to abandon the chance at love.” I laughed. “So I guess that’s my long way of saying I don’t even know if I’ve loved anyone. And I’m very fucking aware of how screwed up that is.”

The words had all tumbled out of my mouth before I could really take stock of what they were, how heavily injected with ugly truths they were. When it hit me, I wanted to escape. I wanted to unzip my own skin and crawl out of it to escape that moment. But short of challenging Duke to a straight-up fight, I didn’t think I was going anywhere.

So I had to brace.

For fuck’s sake, I’d watched someone I was sleeping with get murdered and handled it. I could stand the reaction of the guy I was possibly in love with when he worked out I was really a garbage person.

The brave, feisty feminist thing to do would’ve been to meet his eyes, to adopt a hardness to my gaze to communicate I wasn’t ashamed, that I was totally comfortable with myself and my truth.

My eyes stayed on the ceiling.

Duke didn’t speak immediately. He just let that naked truth sit there in the air, decaying in front of us.

Then he threw the ice over my body to land on the floor with a thud. His hand moved to my chin and he forced my face to his. I didn’t have to move my gaze. I could focus on the space over the top of his head. But I didn’t. I met those blue eyes.

“You haven’t had anyone, all these years?” he asked. His voice was gentle. Sad, almost. I searched for the judgment or dislike that I’d come to expect behind his words. It was nowhere to be found. I missed it.

I laughed, covering my discomfort. “I’ve had plenty of people, Duke.”

He flinched. I barely caught it, but he flinched. “You know what I mean.”

I sighed. Yeah, I knew what he meant.

“Who do you tell your stories to?” he asked after I was silent for a minute. A full one. I’d counted.

I blinked at him, at his deep question. Not one I would expect to come from a macho-man/cowboy. Or maybe it was.

“No one,” I answered honestly. “I don’t tell my stories to anyone. I play out other people’s stories for them. That’s all I am. That’s what I’m good for.”

He frowned. Moved. I held my breath at the closeness. “That’s bullshit,” he murmured. “You’re so much more than that.”

Duke and I had said plenty of words last night, so the rest of the evening was spent with silence. Spent fucking cuddling. We drank wine and watched a movie. It was exceptionally strange doing such normal things together when things were so complicated.

I’d tensed at one point, maybe during the first glass of wine.

Duke sensed it immediately, of course. He grasped my chin in his hand—gently, because he’d made sure every touch was gentle tonight—and locked eyes with me.

“Hey,” he murmured. “I see it, shit swirling, moving in that beautiful head of yours.” He pushed the hair from my face. “I fuckin’ love your hair, have I told you that?”

“No,” I said on a whisper.

“Well, I do,” he said. “Redheads are fiery. I can’t believe I ever thought you were cold. You’re warm. Hot. You’re a fuckin’